


The Fetus Garden

by darkmpreg



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abortion, Dark, Dark Mpreg, Fetus, Infanticide, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Snuff, fetus love, pregnant boy, pregnant children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25374919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmpreg/pseuds/darkmpreg
Summary: A dark fairy tale about two brothers who tend a special garden, cultivating young boys and their wombs for harvesting.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	The Fetus Garden

The Fetus Garden  
  
CHAPTER ONE -- THE BROTHERS  
  
The brothers were young men of beauty, deliciously crafted in the image of virile gods. Their true names were forgotten to the world, but the blonde-haired brother was called Cavender and the dark-haired brother was called Silas. They seemed eighteen or nineteen and possessed all the energy of their age. Young as they were, they watched from a hilltop as the world descended into madness. The virus had ravaged mankind, leaving behind only a fragment of its population -- and a world ripe for the taking, like a half-eaten apple ready to be eaten. 

Cavender and Silas were unique. They were separate from humankind, yet ever entwined with it. They lived forever in the shadows; men of unknown origins sustained by particular appetites. The type of apples they yearned for were not a food source they chose to sate themselves with, but a food source they must have to survive. For without these apples, they would die.

This is the story of their gardens and groves, cultivated and tended to with uttermost care, where the apples bounced and squirmed inside the bellies of their waddling hosts. These delicious, delectable apples gestated for nine to ten months or even longer, sometimes, and were born kicking and screaming from the wombs of their young fathers, minded by the two brothers who cared for them. They wandered, cajoled, and danced within the bounds of their green prison, bellies growing everyday as they ate from the succulent fruit that grew there. 

Cavender would play with them, lifting the pregnant children over his head and tickling them until their squished bladders gave out and streams of urine slipped from their nubile parts. Naked together, unabashed and unashamed, there were untold number of children living in the hedge mazes and gardens and groves, and Cavender knew all their names and loved each of them like they were his own, even as young of a father he would make. Yet none of the pregnant children were sired by the brothers, even though it was their seed that filled their innocent little bodies with large, healthy fetuses. The children that carried and gestated and birthed their seed must always come from without.

Silas did not play with them at all. In his gnarled den of grey and browning wold, Silas brooded and closed his ears to the sounds of the children’s laughter. The children feared him. They dared not play too close to his blackened woods where thorny vines wrapped around the dying trees and cold stones, and they wept when he summoned them for his pleasure. While Cavender was blonde and beautiful, Silas was dark and handsome. And cruel. Many of the boys who came and went from the Blackened Wood were blackened themselves, their pregnant bellies bruised and beaten, their birthing holes raped and pillaged raw. Sometimes, the fetuses inside the wombs of the children that Silas fucked did not live, and they would limp from Silas’ domain with empty bellies.

\---

One day, Cavender was chopping wood in the gardens on the edge of his brother’s dark woods. The other children were playing in the distant gardens that spread across the hills. He could hear their laughter from here and it made him smile. The sun beat down on Cavender and his blonde hair was lit up like a beacon, and his sinewy muscles rippled as he hewed wood with a sharp axe. His bright green eyes caught sight of young Nicholas, a boy of eleven years of age who Cavender knew to be expecting twins any day now. Whether the twins belonged to Cavender or Silas, he couldn’t tell. Cavender could feel the weakened life pulse from the boy’s aura as the boy limped toward him with fear and pain in his eyes. The youth’s slight, slender body was thrown out of proportion by a lopsided, veiny pregnant belly that grew from his ribs like a mishappen rock. Nicholas was bleeding from his lip and his neck was yellow and green from fresh bruising, and the tightly-stretched skin of his stomach showed signs of a beating.

The boy barely made within five feet of Cavender before his skinny legs gave out from under him. He fell forward, but Cavender was quick -- he dropped the axe and rushed forward to catch the pregnant eleven year old in his sweaty arms.   
  
Cavender already knew what his brother had done as he settled the boy onto the ground. Nicholas’ navel pointed toward the sky as the twins inside him shifted his belly into strange shapes. Cavender placed a hand on them, feeling the warmth and energy of his family’s lineage inside fading. Rarely, Silas would sate his dark appetites so completely that some boys would die from it. Especially the young ones who were forced to endure his brother’s monstrous meat. There had been a string of them recently. He couldn’t save them all, though he tried, for those children had died inside the Blackened Wood where Cavender couldn’t promise to keep them safe.

Cavender, already naked and committed to saving Nicholas, willed his beautiful, long cock into its full glory as he crouched over the boy’s mouth. Nicholas saw the pink, red erection and immediately began to squirm and cry, unwilling to endure what he thought would be more torture.   
  
“It’s all right,” assured Cavender, placing a hand down onto the boy’s chest to keep him from moving. “You must drink from me or you will die. Trust me.”

As the boy nodded, one of the fetuses inside Nicholas lurched upward against the tight skin of his overly ripened womb, rising above the twin beside it. Nicholas groaned in pain, and Cavender pushed the shroom of his manhood between the boy’s lips and down his throat, and unsurprisingly, Nicholas didn’t choke but endured it. He had become a well-trained cocksucker since he arrived ten months ago. As Cavender lightly thrusted in and out, he noticed the twins in the boy’s womb fighting each other, twisted and bulging with such determination that Nicholas’ entire torso seemed to rock with their movements. Cavender placed a hand over the child’s massive belly, feeling the twins’ desperate last fight for survival.

With the child’s tight throat contracting around his hefty cock, Cavender willed himself into an early climax. While the babies twisted under his palm, the young man thrusted into the child-father’s throat, and spent his thick, creamy load. The boy’s throat squeezed as he swallowed again and again and again until there was too much all at once, and it spilled from his lips. 

Cavender pulled out some. “Lick me dry and swallow the rest,” said Cavender, rubbing soothing circles over the boy’s fetuses. Already the nutrients of his fluids were being digested and distributed to the hungry, dying little things. It was important they survived. The fetuses. The child. Humanity was on its last legs, and the brothers’ garden must endure.

After several moments, a warm color returned to Nicholas’ cheeks and he sat his bruised and battered body forward with Cavender’s help. He cried against the man’s chest whilst cradled inside his strong arms. “It’s all right, little one,” he soothed. Looking down at the boy’s belly he could see the twins moving slower than before, probably content and overfilled themselves by his nutritious meal. Inside their youthful father, Cavender knew the fetuses’ little bellies bulged with nutrition. Sometimes he mused that maybe once in a blue moon the fetuses would have their own fetuses inside their unborn bellies, and be born already pregnant -- for that was how much of a cum diet the young daddies of the garden lived on.

“I don’t ever want to back in there,” said Nicholas, staring at the Blackened Wood. “Please!”

Frowning, Cavender patted the boy’s baby belly. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ll talk to him, but it’s not in his nature to be kind. And it’s important he sates his appetite or else all of this will die.” He gestured toward the garden. “None of this works without him or myself.”

Nicholas began to cry again, but Cavender hushed him. “Now, none of that,” he said, sitting himself apart from the youth. “You need to be strong.” Cavender flexed his muscles and smiled at Nicholas. “Come on, show me your muscles. I need to see how strong you’ve become.”

The boy gave a broken grin as he flexed his tiny, scrawny arms and constricted his stretched stomach muscles as if he still possessed the toned abs he once bore. The twins kicked wildly in protest of the sudden tightness of their womb. “Ow,” said Nicholas, rubbing a bulge on the right side of his babygut. The two boys laughed, and Cavender reached over to wipe the smudge of blood from Nicholas’ lip.

“I’ll help you up,” said Cavender, standing to assist the massively pregnant eleven year old up from the ground. “And then you can rejoin your friends in the gardens.”

“And I’ll never have to see your brother again?” he asked earnestly.

Cavender loved Nicholas like his own son and patted the boy’s soft blonde hair. What a beautiful boy he was, one of the most beautiful Cavender had ever seen walk the Earth. “I wish that could be so.”

\---

The dark trees groaned as Cavender walked among them, following a worn, narrow trail covered in dead leaves and spongy moss. The air smelled stale and stagnant, and the blue sky above was blotted about by the twisted mass of gnarled branches that reached into the clouds like writhing worms. Cavender didn’t come here often. He disdained his brother and this wretched domain of his, and wished they could be parted forever and go their separate ways. But that could never happen, he knew. 

He heard the screams before he rounded the trail, and found a young boy of seven hoisted in a reverse position above Cavender’s brother. The overgrown belly of the child bounced violently as the dark-haired, handsome Silas thrust the full length of his engorged cockmeat deep into young Georgie’s ass from below. Chunks of blood and birthing fluid oozed out from his laboring, swollen hole, splattering Silas’s groin. Silas’s length and girth was too much for the child, and Silas had punctured deep into Georgie’s womb, rupturing the cervix and mucus plug which kept the seven year old’s overripe fetus inside. Right now, Cavender suspected that the only thing keeping the baby inside his belly was Silas’s thrusting meat. Georgie screamed, his stretchmarked belly convulsing tightly around his fetus. Pregnant seven year olds were at risk during their birthing process; their hips were too narrow, their bodies too small, their holes too tight. The poor child was sweating, his hair was matted, and he had lost all strength of his body and held in position purely by Silas’s bulging arms.

“That’s enough,” Cavender said, stepping forward, but his brother continued fucking the boy’s womb.

“Has a nice head of hair,” said Silas, panting. He could feel the baby inside moving against his length. He sensed the fetus’s pain and confusion and drew power from it, relishing the delightful sensation of its hair against his shroom, and the force of it slamming again and again into the soft skull of it. The baby was dying minute by minute, thrust by thrust, and was fighting for its life, kicking wildly with its legs and feet at the top portion Georgie’s belly, causing imprints to bulge outward.

“Silas,” Cavender said more forcefully. His muscles tensed.

Suddenly Silas’s body seized, his torso cordening as he thrust against the fetus’s head one last time and unleashed himself, feeling the already wet fetus grow wetter, warmer, and oversaturated with cum. Taking a few deep breaths of pleasure, Silas slowly, slowly, slowly pulled out. As he did, he felt the baby descending through the tight canal. Truly, Silas’s thick manhood was the only thing keeping the fetus’s downward progression.

When Silas was out, the baby’s head crowned painfully, beginning to stretch against the tight membranes of Georgie’s sex. Cum and birthing fluids dribbled from its head. The seven year old boy’s tiny cock throbbed while his belly constricted tightly. The baby was half the size of the boy himself, and so his belly still bulged obscenely on his tiny little frame as he screamed bloody murder.

Suddenly, Silas got out from underneath the boy and pushed the laboring child over, letting him fall a handful of feet from the dark-wood throne on which Silas was fucking the boy. Cavender tried to lurch forward to catch the child, but Georgie was too far out of his reach to help, and Georgie smacked face forward into the ground, his belly making contact with the rocky soil first -- then his face hit, and Cavender could hear the snap-crack of a broken nose.

Cavender turned the boy over, blood and soil pouring down his face as his belly looked strange and flat. The force of the impact to his belly had pushed the fetus’s head past the crowning stage before the muscle membranes of his sphincter had time stretch, and as Cavender examined Georgie, he saw that the muscle had been completely destroyed.

The blonde brother checked the fetus as Silas poured himself mead and laughed, watching his brother trying to save the child. “The fuckmeats are dead,” said Silas. “Let them be.”

It was true. Georgie had already been dying from blood loss from the laborfuck, and the fetus’s position inside the birth canal caused its back and neck to break during the fall. The fall killed them both.

Cavender was shaking with loss and anger as he stared at the tragic, bloody scene.

“You can still save them,” said Silas with a smirk. “You know what you have to do.”

The blonde man grimaced. His cock hardened as he reached for the fetus’s blonde hair -- yes, the baby was one of his -- and began to force it back into Georgie’s belly, filling its roundness into its maximum circumference once again. The navel, which had deflated some during the partial birth, popped back outward. Cavender spread the boy’s legs and pinned them on either side of the dead child’s belly and forced his way into the shredded hole, which still felt surprisingly tight despite a baby having passed twice through it. Fucking a dead seven year old pregnant child was not something he wanted to do, but his cum could revive them if he was fast enough, and he pushed through his discomfort so that he could save the boy and their unborn child.

Even with the fetus back inside Georgie’s tummy, he could feel the soft gooey hair on his cock, and thought of it like a kiss from father to unborn son. A kiss of life. A kiss from the tool that created the fetus to begin with. He pressed his hand firmly against the side of Georgie’s stilled belly, feeling the lifeless body of their child inside begin to bounce as Cavender fucked its head.

Silas joined them, sticking his monstrous cock into the dead child’s mouth. Within moments, they were both cumming. They pulled out in a spray of cum and Cavender’s dick was bloody.

After a few moments, life returned to little Georgie’s cheeks. His eyes began to move beneath his eyelids, but he wouldn’t be opening them for a few days at least. Suddenly, there was a kick from within the boy’s stomach. And then another. Then, it began to ripple with movement.

“We need to push it back out,” said Cavender, cradling the unborn child through the belly skin.

“We?” said Silas, returning to his drink.

Cavender then began to push down on Georgie’s stomach, angling the baby toward the womb’s entrance in which it had already passed through once. Not making much progress, Cavender resorted to reaching back in through the hole with his arm, and grabbed the fetus’s head with his hand, feeling the renewed energy pulsing through it, and pulled. His arm bulged with the effort, as the cum had begun mending Georgie’s torn hole and birth canal, making it tight again. 

With one hand pulling the baby’s head, he used his free forearm to mash Georgie’s stomach down, using it like a blunt instrument to maneuver the unborn child further and further until -- it crowned again, and within several more minutes, the baby was born healthy and blonde, with green eyes like his father.

Cavender tore the umbilical cord with his teeth -- as he had done so many countless times through the years -- and cradled his new son against his naked chest. He relished these moments with his children. The children he could not keep, but wished he could.

The dark-haired brother made a tick-tock sound with his tongue. “Time’s a’wasting, brother.”

Frowning, Cavender nodded. He reluctantly handed the baby into Silas’s arms. Silas cooed and ga-ga’d at his new nephew, then set the baby on the nearby stone table, took a knife from its ceremonial display, and plunged it into the baby’s heart. It was painless and instant, and Cavender’s heart ached as it always did. The altar shuddered, the trees of the Blackened Wood trembled, and the gardens and groves were overcome with a great wind. Cavender and Silas both felt the energy of the sacrifice filling them and making them powerful once again. 

But the ritual was not complete.

Cavender and Silas sat across from one another at the table as they had for thousands and thousands of years, and fastened a napkin around their necks and picked up large forks and sharp cutting knives, discussing the state of the collapsing world and the comings and goings of the children, all the while dining on such delicious apples.

“You’re growing careless with them,” said Cavender, filling his mouth. “You endanger us.” He crunched through a soft bone.

“The time is near,” Silas said.

But Cavender shook his head, eyes rolling. His brother had been saying that for millennia.

Silas began cutting more from the juicy meal. “But who will do the honors?” the brother chewed with his mouth open, grinning up at Cavender as he lowered his head over his plate like a fiendish predator. “You?” he smirked. “Or me?”

\---


End file.
